


Always Mercutio

by writelights



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 04:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14300517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writelights/pseuds/writelights
Summary: And now Benvolio stands upon a cliff, quiet this time. He wants to jump, he’s been considering it for days. But he can’t, because Mercutio wouldn’t want that. He’d have wanted him to live, wanted him to find a wife or a pretty boy to settle down with. He backed away slowly before turning tail and running away, not for himself, but for Mercutio.





	Always Mercutio

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a brief character study, nothing serious. I intend to write much more about Benvolio in the future, and I just needed to get a feel for writing him.

Benvolio’s innocence died screaming. Some of it died when he watched his parents burn to death in the house he was born in, some of it died when Mercutio lay bleeding in his arms. Mostly, it died when he found his cousin poisoned and Capulet’s daughter with a dagger in her chest.

As a young child, Benvolio had been labeled a weakling. He was small, skinny, with no muscle accentuating his scrawny arms. His waist was thin, almost feminine, and his hip bones jutted out awkwardly. A tangle of curly dark hair sat upon his head, and clusters of freckles decorated his pale face. They looked like stars, Mercutio had once said.

The one thing that really stood out about his appearance was his eyes. They were a soft, light green, the color of springtime, mint leaves, and new life. He wore his emotions in his eyes, and oh, some people knew how to read them better than others.

Like Mercutio. The first boy Benvolio had ever kissed, the only boy Benvolio had ever fallen in love with. There had been other flings and kisses and crushes, of course, but somehow he always came back to Mercutio. 

Benvolio was twelve when he realized he liked boys, though it took him another four-and-a-half years to accept it. In that time he kissed many girls, even took one to bed. Her hair had been soft, her waist thin, and her breasts….unexciting. He told himself he just wasn’t ready, wasn’t interested because he wasn’t old enough or mature enough. But he knew that wasn’t true.

He had known Mercutio his entire life. A year his junior, the wild blonde boy his parents had often told him to stay away from. Benvolio didn’t listen. Mercutio was Romeo’s best friend, he couldn’t be that bad, could he? He was, of course, but Benvolio refused to see his faults. Only that angelic face and his hair the color of liquid gold.

He admired him from afar. Mercutio was a ladies’ man, but Benvolio knew he also had eyes for men. He liked to look at them, point them out to him and Romeo. Benvolio only nodded and pretended he wasn’t interested.

It was on Benvolio’s seventeenth birthday that he kissed him. After the celebrations, when all the cake had been consumed and all the decorations taken down. “I have one more present for you,” Mercutio had said. Benvolio hadn’t questioned it, merely smiled and inquired as to what it was.

“This.” And he gently placed a hand on either side of Benvolio’s face and pressed his lips to his. It was gentle, soft, heart-wrenchingly slow. Benvolio forgot how to breathe.

When he felt the other man tense up, Mercutio pulled away. “Do you not want this?”

“I do.” Benvolio’s voice was barely a whisper, and if Mercutio had not been sitting so close he wouldn’t have heard it. He took hold of Mercutio’s face and pulled it closer to his own, but he didn’t let their lips touch. Instead he stroked his cheeks and looked into his eyes, attempting to memorize every tiny detail of this moment. 

A smile spread across Mercutio’s face, and he looked as if he were trying not to laugh. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, my dear?”

“I plan on it, yes,” Benvolio replied, sliding his fingers down to touch Mercutio’s lips. A half-healed cut adorned the top one, an injury acquired in a bar fight over something Benvolio wasn’t quite sure of. And then he kissed him.

It went on like that for a while, nothing more than stolen kisses and gentle caresses whenever they could find the time to be alone. Their biggest obstacle was Romeo, who was completely oblivious to the changes in atmosphere between them.

It was Mercutio that snuck into Benvolio’s chambers late one night with less than innocent intentions. He had been nervous, so nervous, but Mercutio had kissed him sweetly and promised he wouldn’t try anything Benvolio didn’t want to. 

Their first time was slow and gentle. Benvolio was damn near a virgin, and Mercutio wasn’t going to be the one that hurt him. There was more kissing than anything, from soft kisses down the backs of necks to hot, passionate kisses on the mouth. For the first time in his life, Benvolio was completely comfortable being naked in front of another person.

Mercutio stayed over that night, cuddled under the woolen blankets with his darling Benvolio in his arms. When Benvolio woke up in the morning, he was gone.

Romeo was two years younger than Benvolio, but a hell of a lot smarter. He was clever, good at flirting. Juliet was pretty, far prettier than girls like Rosaline, and she had the intelligence to match. They were meant for each other in ways Benvolio and Mercutio weren’t.

Even in his youth, Benvolio knew his life would end up a tragedy told for centuries to come. One thing he didn’t expect to do was hold the bleeding love of his life to his chest before his eighteenth birthday. But there he was, kissing Mercutio as he breathed his last breath. Benvolio couldn’t help believing he stole it.

When Romeo was exiled, it was merely another blow to his already broken heart. He helped him pack his bags and hugged his dear cousin goodbye, expecting to never see him again. Especially not dead in the Capulet mausoleum. 

Benvolio remembered it so clearly, as if it had happened yesterday. He came in to place some flowers on Juliet’s tomb in honor of Romeo and there they were, both covered in her blood. He screamed. It was all he could think to do. He couldn’t draw himself away from the scene to get help, and he didn’t even want to consider approaching the dead teenagers. So he just stood there and screamed. 

And now Benvolio stands upon a cliff, quiet this time. He wants to jump, he’s been considering it for days. But he can’t, because Mercutio wouldn’t want that. He’d have wanted him to live, wanted him to find a wife or a pretty boy to settle down with. He backed away slowly before turning tail and running away, not for himself, but for Mercutio.

Always Mercutio.


End file.
